Varthlokkur told Mist, “I should take the Old Man to Fangdred and put him together with Ethrian.” Ragnarson glanced from the wizard to the Empress.
Was something going on in the shadows, there? Both seemed guarded.
Mist responded, “No. Because I think he’l be safer here.” Though the wizard looked inclined to argue, he said only,
“You may be right. The only way in here is by transfer. He never… Oh! Stupid.”
Ragnarson swal owed a temptation to mention winged horses and flying evil familiars. He needed to stay smal , his ears not taken into account.
Anyway, Varthlokkur had remembered without having to be prompted.
Mist said, “I can keep him from coming in from above. The horse is immortal but not invulnerable. Bring the boy here.” Varthlokkur sighed. “I don’t see Nepanthe letting us do that.
She did a stint as a guest in these parts.”
“That wasn’t me or mine. Remind her that we have the world’s best healers, including those who heal damaged minds. I wil put together a team to work with the Old Man.” Ragnarson thought Mist’s project insane and doomed. The al ies would have to make sudden decisions and act quickly to keep up with an enthusiastic Star Rider. They did not trust one another enough not to waste time looking for hidden agendas any time anyone made a suggestion.
Another edge Old Meddler had.
Varthlokkur said, “Nepanthe might listen if you argued convincingly. Expect her to insist on staying with him, though.”
Mist nodded, then beckoned. “Lord Yuan.” Varthlokkur gave Ragnarson a searching look, then Michael Trebilcock, who was eavesdropping, too.
Yuan arrived. “How may I be of service, Il ustrious?”
“I asked you to dig into the past of your shop to see if it played any part in the incident that claimed the lives of the Princes Thaumaturge.”
“I did that.”
Ragnarson and Varthlokkur were puzzled. What could that signify now?
Lord Yuan said, “As I told you before, Il ustrious, I played no part personal y. Neither your father nor his brother would have approached me about participating in such crimes.
That stipulated, there is no doubt that someone younger and political y more ambitious might have seen an opportunity. I searched the records exhaustively. It would appear that transfer portals were not used to put the Princes into Fangdred that night. I hope you aren’t disappointed.”
Mist sighed. “I’m not. That’s what I suspected.” She glanced at Varthlokkur, who shrugged, and at the Old Man, who was focused on the shogi board. “Demons, I suppose.” Lord Yuan said, “Almost certainly, Il ustrious. Though I found notes indicating that the Windmjirnerhorn may have been active at the time.”
His remark was a big, “So what?” to Ragnarson but obviously meant something to Varthlokkur, who seemed almost excited.
Mist was having original thoughts of her own, though Ragnarson doubted that they matched the wizard’s. She said, “I see a solution to the problem…” Varthlokkur started to ask Lord Yuan something at the same moment. He stopped, deferring.
Mist said, “If we placed a portal in Fangdred, positioned so you could be comfortable about control ing it, Nepanthe and Ethrian could move back and forth to suit themselves.
Scalza and Eka, too, if they wanted. The Old Man could go there and stil be able to duck out if danger threatened.” She spoke tentatively, evidently intent on going easy on Varthlokkur’s paranoia. The wizard just nodded. “That might be useful. Lord Yuan, can you detect the Horn in use?” Not using its ful name for the same reason no one named the Star Rider.
“Not it, per se, but the power echo when it’s in use.” The wizard’s excitement dwindled.
Lord Yuan went on, “The device has a unique signature. It reverberates in the transfer stream rather like water dancing in a tumbler when a tuning fork is struck close by.” Even Varthlokkur frowned, not fol owing.
Mist interceded. “You two talk that out later. It sounds like something we can use.”
Lord Yuan shook his head. “I haven’t found a way. It’s not even directional. It’s on or it’s off, in use or not in use, the latter so infrequently that there is no point wasting man-hours watching for it.”
Varthlokkur said, “Even so…”
Ragnarson had begun to feel like the man whose job it would be to watch for the Windmjirnerhorn to announce itself. He could not focus. Michael listened intently, memorizing every word without understanding a one, in case it proved useful later, but his eyes had glazed over.
Mist observed with benevolent exasperation. Elsewhere, a raging game of shogi roared along with distressed commentary from Lord Kuo Wen-chin.
Ragnarson met Mist’s eyes. She said, “I have sown the seeds.” “They appear to have quickened, too. Where do we go now?”
“I have a master plan. If I say one word more than I have already, though, the Fates wil rip it apart like jackals devouring a week-old carcass.”
Chapter Twenty-Three:
Josiah Gales and Queen Inger, with toddler-king Fulk between them, entered the converted warehouse where the Thing had indulged in rowdy deliberations since its inception. The Crown never had possessed wealth enough to raise a purpose-built structure. Josiah’s health had not improved. He limped. He carried a cane. He leaned on it heavily when no one was watching. The little king was doing better.
Inger said, “This place is a sty. Pray the weather has the grace to let us air it out.”
Preparations for the Thingmeet had raised obstacles entirely unforeseen, as, here, where enterprising livestock dealers had used a vacant building as an indoor feed lot, thinking it a sin that so much sheltered space should go unused—especial y when the inattentive administration at the castle never visited the property.
People had squatted there, too. Many had been the sort who could not grasp such basic concepts as taking it outside when they need to vacate their bladders or bowels.
Three ragged soldiers trailed Inger and Josiah. Two had helped Babeltausque and Nathan Wolf at the Twisted Wrench. They constituted a significant percentage of the remaining castle garrison.
Stil , optimism was in the air. The Thingmeet was a stroke of genius, so far, though neither Kavelin nor Vorgreberg yet understood that. The classes and factions just saw an opportunity to air grievances and defy chaos.
Gales saw it. A respect for order had been hammered into the people during the last three reigns despite a tradition of immaturity and factionalism. The King had been lost. Kavelin had fol owed up with a prolonged tantrum. Old scores had been settled—til chaos came cal ing another time. But peace and prosperity had been murmuring seductively al summer. People were ready.
Fickle, fickle people. How long before some self-starter felt comfortable enough to resume being unpleasant?
Vorgreberg’s folk were pleased, if reports could be trusted
—though some frugal early Thingmeet arrivals had found a loophole and were tenting on fal ow ground outside the wal .
Even they had to buy food and services.
Inger’s popularity was rising, local y.
Scanning the progress volunteer cleaners had made, she declared, “We may yet pul this off. If we do, we may yet survive.”
“If Kristen remains passive.” There had been little news from Sedlmayr. The Mundwil er strategy appeared to
